He wondered if it made any difference knowing what it wasyou were walking into.
Nervously, tentatively, he walked across and through thespace in question. Nothing. Oh well. He turned, andstood surveying it for a moment or two while he took a coupleof slow drags on the cigarette he had got from the tramp. Thespace didn’t look any different.
He walked back through it again, this time a little lesstentatively, but with slow positive steps. Once again, nothinghappened, but then just as he was moving out of it at the end hehalf fancied that he half heard a half moment of some kind ofraucous sound, like a burst of white noise on a twisted radio dial.He turned once more, and headed back into the space, movinghis head carefully round trying to pick up the slightest sound.For a while he didn’t catch it, then suddenly there was a snatchof it that burst around him and was gone. A movement andanother snatch. He moved very, very slowly and carefully. Withthe most slight and gentle movements, trying to catch at thesound he moved his head round what seemed like a billionthpart of a billionth part of a degree, slipped behind a moleculeand was gone.
He had instantly to duck to avoid a great eagle swooping outof the vast space at him.
Chapter 28
It was another eagle, a different eagle. The next one was adifferent eagle too, and the next. The air seemed to be thick witheagles, and it was obviously impossible to enter Valhallawithout getting swooped on by at least half a dozen of them.Even eagles were being swooped on by eagles.
Dirk threw up his arms over his head to fend off the wild,beating flurries, turned, tripped and fell down behind a hugetable on to a floor of heavy, damp, earthy straw. His hat rolledunder the table. He scrambled after it, stuffed it back firmly onhis head, and slowly peered up over the table.
The hall was dark, but alive with great bonfires.
Noise and woodsmoke filled the air, and the smells ofroasting pigs, roasting sheep, roasting boar, and sweat andreeking wine and singed eagle wings.
The table he was crouched behind was one of countless slabsof oak on trestles that stretched in every direction, laden withsteaming hunks of dead animals, huge breads, great iron beakersslopping with wine and candles like wax anthills. Massivesweaty figures seethed around them, on them, eating, drinking,fighting over the food, fighting in the food, fighting with thefood.
A yard or so from Dirk, a warrior was standing on top of atable fighting a pig which had been roasting for six hours, and hewas clearly losing, but losing with vim and spirit and beingcheered on by other warriors who were dousing him down withwine from a trough.
The roof - as much of it as could be made out at this distance,and by the dark and flickering light of the bonfires - was madeof lashed-together shields.
Dirk clutched his hat, kept his head down and ran, trying tomake his way towards the side of the hall. As he ran, feelinghimself to be virtually invisible by reason of being completelysober and, by his own lights, normally dressed, he seemed topass examples of every form of bodily function imaginable,other than actual teeth-cleaning.
The smell, like that of the tramp in King’s Cross station, whomust surely be here participating, was one that never stoppedcoming at you. It grew and grew until it seemed that your headhad to become bigger and bigger to accommodate it. The din ofsword on sword, sword on shield, sword on flesh, flesh on fleshwas one that made the eardrums reel and quiver and want to cry.He was pummelled, tripped, elbowed, shoved and drenched withwine as he scumed and pushed through the wild throng, butarrived at last at a side wall - massive slabs of wood and stonefaced with sheets of stinking cow hide.
Panting, he stopped for a moment, looked back and surveyedthe scene with amazement.
It was Valhalla.
Of that there would be absolutely no question. This was notsomething that could be mocked up by a catering company. Andthe whole seething, wild mass of carousing gods and warriorsand their caroused-at ladies, with their shields and fires andboars did seem to fill a space that must be somethingapproaching the size of St Pancras station. The sheer heat thatrose off it all seemed as if it should suffocate the flocks ofderanged eagles which thrashed through the air above them.
And maybe it was. He was by no means certain that a flock ofenraged eagles which thought that they might be suffocatingwould behave significantly differently from many of the eagleshe was currently watching.
There was something he had been putting off wonderingwhile he had fought his way through the mass, but the time hadcome to wonder it now.
What, he wondered, about the Draycotts?
What could the Draycotts possibly be doing here? Andwhene, in such a mle, could the Draycotts possibly be?
He narrowed his eyes and peered into the heaving throng, try-ing to see if he could locate anywhere a pair of red designerspectacles or a quiet Italian suit mingling out there with theclanging breastplates and the sweaty leathers, knowing that theattempt was futile but feeling that it should be made.
No, he decided, he couldn’t see them. Not, he felt, their kindof party. Further reflections along these lines were cut short by aheavy short-handled axe which hurtled through the air andburied itself with an astounding thud in the wall about threeinches from his left ear and for a moment blotted out all thought.
When he recovered from the shock of it, and let his breathout, he thought that it was probably not somethiog that had beenthrown at him with malicious intent, but was merely warriorlyhigh spirits. Nevertheless, he was not in a partying mood anddecided to move on. He edged his way along the wall in thedirection which, had this actually been St Pancras station ratherthan the hall of Valhalla, would have led to the ticket office. Hedidn’t know what he would find there, but he reckoned that itmust be different to this, which would be good.
It seemed to him that things were generally quieter here, outon the periphery.
The biggest and best of the good tunes soemed to beconcentrated more strongly towanls the middle of the hall,whereas the tables he was passing now seemed to be peopledwith those who looked as if they had teached that season in theirimmortal lives when they preferred to contemplate the timeswhen they used to wrestle dead pigs, and to pass appreciativecomments to each other about the finer points of dead pigwrestling technique, than actually to wrestle with one againthemselves just at the moment.
He overheard one remark to his companion that it was theleft-handed three-fingered flat grip on the opponent’s sternumthat was all-important at the crucial moment of finally not quitefalling over in a complete stupor, to which his companionresponded with a benign “Oh ah.”
Dirk stopped, looked and backtracked.
Sitting hunched in a thoughtful posture over his iron plate,and clad in heavily stained and matted furs and buckles whichwere, if anything, more rank and stinking than the ensembleDirk had last encountered him in, was Dirk’s companion fromthe concourse at King’s Cross station.
Dirk wondered how to approach him. A quick backslap and a”Hey! Good party. Lot of energy,” was one strategy, but Dirkdidn’t think it was the right one.
While he was wondering, an eagle suddenly swooped downfrom out of the air and, with a lot of beating and thrashing,landed on the table in front of the old man, folded its wings andadvanced on him, demanding to be fed. Easily, the old manpulled a bit of meat off a bone and held it up to the great bird,which pecked it sharply but accurately out of his fingers.
Dirk thought that this was the key to a friendly approach. Heleant over the table and picked up a small hunk of meat andoffered it in turn to the bird. The bird attacked him and went forhis neck, forcing him to try and beat the savage creature off withhis hat, but the introduction was made.
“Oh ah,” said the man, shooed the eagle away and shifted acouple of inches along the bench. Though it was not a fulsomeinvitation, it was at least an invitation. Dirk clambered over thebench and sat down.
`”Thank you,” said Dirk, puffing.
“Oh ah.”
“If you remember, we - “
At that moment the most tremendous reverberating thumpsounded out across Velhalla. It was the sound of a drum beingbeaten, but it sounded like a drum of immense proportions, as ithad to be to make itself heard over the tumult of noise withwhich the hall was filled. The drum sounded three times, in slowand massive beats, like the heartbeat of the hall itself.
Dirk looked up to see where the sound might have comefrom. He noticed for the first time that at the south end of thehall, to which he had been heading, a great balcony or bridgeextended across most of its width. There were some figures upthere, dimly visible through the heat haze and the eagles, butDirk had a sense that whoever was up there presided overwhoever was down here.
Odin, thought Dirk. Odin the All-Father must be up on thebalcony.
The sound of the revels died down quickly, though it wasseveral seconds before the reverberations of the noise finally fellaway.
When all was quiet, but expectant, a great voice rang outfrom the balcony and through the hall.
The voice said, ‘”The time of the Challenging Hour is nearlyat an end. The Challenging Hour has been called by theGod Thor. For the third time of asking, where is Thor?”
A murmuring throughout the hall suggested that nobodyknew where Thor was and why he had not come to make hischallenge.
The voice said, “This is a very grave affront to the dignity ofthe All-Father. If there is no challenge before the expiration ofthe hour, the penalty for Thor shall be correspondingly grave.”
The drum beat again three times, and the consternation in thehall increased. Where was Thor?
“He’s with some girl,” said a voice above the rest, and therewere loud shouts of laughter, and a return to the hubbub ofbefore.
“Yes.” said Dirk, quietly, “I expect he probably is.”
“Oh ah.”
Dirk had supposed that he was talking to himself and wassurprised to have elicited a response from the man, though notparticularly surprised at the response that had been elicited.
“Thor called this meeting tonight?” Dirk asked him.
“Oh ah.”
“Bit rude not to turn up.”
“Oh ah.”
“I expect everyone’s n bit upset.”
“Not as long as there’s enough pigs to go round.”
“Pigs?”
“Oh ah.”
Dirk didn’t immediately know how to go on from here.
“Oh ah,” he said, resignedly.
“It’s only Thor as really cares, you see,” said the old man.”Keeps on issuing his challenge, then not being able to prove it.Can’t argue. Gets all confused and angry, does somethingstupid, can’t sort it out and gets made to do a penance.Everybody else just turns up for the pigs.”
“Oh ah.” Dirk was learning a whole new conversationaltechnique and was astonished at how successful it was. Heregarded the man with a new-found respect.
“Do you know how many stones there are in Wales?” askedthe man suddenly.
“Oh ah,” said Dirk warily. He didn’t know this joke.
“Nor do I. He won’t tell anybody. Says count ‘em yourselfand goes off in a sulk.”
“Oh ah.” He didn’t think it was a very good one.
“So this time he hasn’t even turned up. Can’t say I blamehim. But I’m sorry, because I think he might be right.”
“Oh ah.”
The man lapsed into silence.
Dirk waited.
“Oh ah,” he said again, hopefully.
Nothing.
“So, er,” said Dirk, going for a cautious prompt, “you thinkhe might be right, eh?”
“Oh ah.”
“So.Old Thor might be right, eh? That’s the story,” saidDirk.
“Oh ah.”
“In what way,” said Dirk, running out of patience at last, “doyou think he might be right?”
“Oh, every way.”
“Oh ah,” said Dirk, defeated.
“It’s no secret that the gods have fallen on hard times,” saidthe old man, grimly. “That’s clear for all to see, even for theones who only care about the pigs,which is most of ‘em. Andwhen you feel you’re not needed any more it can be hard tothink beyond the next pig,even if you used to have the wholeworld there with you. Everyone just accepts it as inevitable.Everyone except Thor, that is. And now he’s given up. Hasn’teven bothered to turn up and break a pig with us.Given up hischallenge. Oh ah.”
“Oh ah,” said Dirk.
“Oh ah.”
“So, er, Thor’s challenge then,” said Dirk tentatively.
“Oh ah.”
“What was it?”
“Oh ah.”
Dirk lost his patience entirely and rounded on the man.
“What was Thor’s challenge to Odin?” he insisted angrily.
The man looked round at him in slow surprise,lookcd him upand down with his big sagging eyes.
“You’re a mortal, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Dirk testily, “I’m a mortal. Of course I’m amortal. What has being a mortal got to do with it?”
“How did you get here?”
“I followed you.” He pulled the screwed up, empty cigarettepacket out of his pocket and put it on the table. “Thanks,” hesaid, “I owe you.”
It was a pretty feeble type of apology, he thought, but it wasthe best he could manage.
“Oh ah.” The man looked away.
“What was Thor’s challenge to Odin?” said Dirk, trying hardto keep the impatience out of his voice this time.
“What does it matter to you?” the old immortal said bitterly.”You’re a mortal. Why should you care? You’ve got what youwant out of it, you and your kind, for what little it’s now worth.”
“Got what we want out of what?”
“The deal,” said the old immortal. “The contract that Thorclaims Odin has entered into.”
“Contract?” said Dirk. “What contract?”
The man’s face filled with an expression of slow anger. Thebonfires of Valhalla danced deeply in his eyes as he looked atDirk.
“The sale,” he said darkly, “of an immortal soul.”
“What?” said Dirk. He had already considered this idea anddiscounted it. “You mean a man has sold his soul to him? Whatman? It doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” said the man, “that wouldn’t make sense at all. I saidan immortal soul. Thor says that Odin has sold his soul to Man.”
Dirk stared at him with horror and then slowly raised his eyesto the balcony. Something was happening there. The great drumbeat out again, and the hall of Valhalla began to hush itself oncemore. But a second or third drumbeat failed to come. Somethingunexpected seemed to have occurred, and the figures on thebalcony were moving in some confusion. The Challenging Hourwas just expiring, but a challenge of some kind seemed to havearrived.